Taphephilia
by homesweethomicide13
Summary: Buried alive... it was supposed to be a punishment. It was exactly the opposite. Hidan/Hidan. Graphic, and kinda twisted.


**Title: **Taphephilia  
**Author:** homesweethomicide13  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Hidan/Hidan  
**Warning:** Sexual content, Yaoi, profanity, blood, violence, masochism, GRAPHIC.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh Jashin do I wish I owned him.  
**Summary:** It was supposed to be a punishment. It was exactly the opposite. Hidan/Hidan. Graphic, and sort of twisted.

**Author's Note:** Taphephilia is a sexual fetish for being buried alive.

**Taphephilia**

They thought it was the perfect plan. The most genius way to get rid of him. The perfect punishment. How wrong they were. If only they'd known a bit more about him, known exactly what sort of man he was, how twisted he really was. But of course, how could anyone know to what extent he was mentally sick? There was only one person in the entire world who had known his warped ways.

No, it wasn't a punishment. Not even close.

Lying at the bottom of that hole, blood and dirt filling his mouth, pain radiating through the parts of him he could feel, the world closed off above him… he was in pure ecstasy. Violet eyes slid closed, a dry tongue swiping over drier lips. Oh yeah. This was just what he liked.

Those eyes snapped open when cool, familiar hands swept the loose silver hair back from his face. Breath he realistically shouldn't have caught in his throat when violet eyes met violet eyes. A pale finger pressed to his lips, and he watched as a smirk tugged at the other's. Hidan's eyes widened as they travelled over the smooth, perfect, pale body that crouched in front of him. He inspected the lines of the shoulders, the hips, the long slender arms and legs; the latter's muscles straining from holding the rest of the body in such a position.

It was a body he knew well. A body he had seen every day of his entire life. A body he had seen grow, fill out; become the shape he was looking at. He knew that smooth, flawless skin. He knew those deep violet eyes, that naughty little smirk. He knew the silky, loose silver hair.

It took him a few moments to process the knowledge that he was staring at himself, crouched naked among the rubble several feet below the surface. Before he could question how it was possible, the mirror image was leaning in, and cool lips replaced the finger on his lips. The kiss was only short, and seconds later two sets of violet eyes locked again. A long strand of silver hair flopped down over the other Hidan's face, and Hidan felt the need to reach up and brush it aside. He stopped, frowning, when he realised he'd lifted his arm – an arm that should have been in bits somewhere below him – and he was looking at his own hand. Thick, black stitching held the arm and hand together. Looking down, he discovered that his whole body had been put back together, and was covered in the same black stitching. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he placed a name to a face. Kakuzu. Wasn't that the one who used to put him back together?

"Fuck." Hidan whispered, lifting his eyes again to stare at the copy of himself, still crouched in front of him. This body was void of any stitching, all pale and perfect and in one piece. And it was grinning at him – not in a pleasant way, but in a sexual-predator way.

"Buried alive, aren't we, Hida-chan?" It purred, eyes rolling skyward, staring up at the earthy roof above them. In another situation, Hidan would have probably questioned why there appeared to be an empty space big enough to fit two adult bodies with room to move, but his mind was far too distracted. He, too, was staring up at the wall of earth above them, all around them. And he couldn't stop the low moan from escaping his lips.

Buried alive. The very thought of it had always sent shivers down his spine, sent all the blood in his body rushing south, had always dazzled his mind. He'd been buried before. And every second of it had been pure, wonderful ecstasy. When he'd been dug back up, he was panting heavily, clothes torn and stained, face flushed and eyes glazed over with lust.

He snapped back to reality when one of those cool hands pressed down on his crotch, cupped him, and then slowly stroked him. He opened his mouth to speak, but he had no idea of what he wanted to say. What could he say?

"We always liked being buried alive." That voice was so silky, so seductive. Did he really sound like that? Lips pressed against his jaw, teeth latched onto one ear, bit down, tugged. Hidan growled low in his throat, his body beginning to burn with desire. "Made us so hot." Hot breath against his face. Warm body pressed against his own. One hand still stroking, the other hand in his hair. He couldn't stop his body reacting the way it did. His own hands came up, gripped the strong shoulders in front of him, dragged nails down the line of the spine. His mirror self growled, the hand in his hair tugged sharply, wrenching his head to one side. Teeth attacked his neck, tore at his skin. A tongue lapped at the blood that gushed to the surface of the wound, and then that same tongue was pushing its way into his mouth.

There was nothing gentle about the way they kissed. It was all lips and teeth and tongue, hard and hot, the taste and scent of blood driving them both wild. Nails dug into flesh, tore at skin. Hips ground together, legs wrapped around waists. Hidan couldn't tell who was doing what, but goddamn it was hot. His blood was boiling in his veins, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

Then suddenly the warm body was gone, and he was being slammed down against a hard, rocky ground. He felt something snap in his arm, cried out in pain and moaned with pleasure at the same time. Something heavy straddled his hips, and he felt a searing pain in his chest and the familiar warm trickle of blood. He lifted his head and groaned, eyes glazing over with lust. His copy was kneeling over him, one hand pressed against his stomach. Four deep scratches crossed his chest, blood already coating the skin around them. As he watched, his copy lifted the hand from his stomach, and stuck two bloodied fingers into his mouth. Hidan tried to sit up, tried to reach for his copy, but a fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him back down onto the ground.

"Play nice, Hida-chan." His copy grinned sadistically. The partially-bloodied hand was at his side now, and it was holding something that seemed to glint even in the almost non-existent light. With one quick motion, the hand shot out, and a long blade sliced through his ribcage and into his heart. Hidan screamed, throwing his head back and arching his body up, pushing the blade further into his chest. His copy's other hand closed around his throat and squeezed, cutting off his oxygen. Hidan bucked his hips up, his cock now throbbing with need. The blade was wrenched free, snapping several of his ribs on the exit, and then a hand was plunged into the gaping wound. The hand on his throat loosened its grip, and Hidan twisted, using his body to push his copy off him. And then he pounced.

Blade in hand, he pinned his copy to the ground and slashed at his stomach, bending to lap at the blood that poured out. A leg was hooked over his shoulder and then around his neck, forcing his head further down. Hidan felt the warm liquid rush over his face, dripping down his nose. Blood was running down his throat now, and he was beginning to choke. Hands tugged at his hair roughly, pulling his head up from the wound. Blood now dripped into his eyes, trickled from the corners of his mouth. A strong hand grabbed his uninjured arm at the elbow and yanked it backwards. The bone snapped easily, and Hidan bit through his lip to stop himself from calling out yet again. As more blood ran down his chin, he turned to inspect the damage, and began to laugh when he saw the pearly white bone sticking out at an odd angle.

"We've always been twisted, haven't we, Hida-chan?" A kick to his chest had him sprawling on the ground again, rocks tearing at his skin. The bloodied blade swooped down again, almost gutting him like a fish. The copy reached into the tear in Hidan's abdomen, and emerged with a handful of Hidan's intestines. Hidan was now shaking with desire as he watched his copy's tongue swirl around a section of intestines, shivered at the pleasure that tingled through him at the sensation. The copy roughly shoved his intestines back in and gripped his hips, bending down and slowly tracing the wound with a bloodied tongue. Hidan took the blade that had been left beside them and dragged it down his copy's back, licking his lips at the glorious sound that erupted from the copy's throat as he did so.

They became a tangle of limbs as they wrestled on the ground, the blade swapping between them as they took it in turns to inflict pain upon each other. Blood was gathered in hands and smeared over pure, pale skin. Their matching silver hair was plastered to their heads and matted with each other's blood, _their_ blood. Some of Hidan's stitches were ripped out by teeth, or loosened. Deep gashes covered arms and legs, and fist-sized holes decorated chests. The blade was eventually discarded, neither masochist needing anything other than their own hands to inflict pain.

Hidan landed hard on his back once again, a sharp rock digging into his spine, and his copy crawled up over him. There was hardly an inch of him that wasn't covered in blood now, and Hidan licked his lips at the sight. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have realised how wrong this was, how twisted, but as it were, his only thoughts were of the pain, the blood, and the mountain of earth above him. And so, when his legs were yanked up over his copy's shoulders and something warm, wet and throbbing was pressed against his entrance, he simply threw his head back and let it happen.

The copy thrust hard into him, using only their joined blood as a lubricant – which, though effective, was still increasingly painful for Hidan – and dug nails into Hidan's hips. Hidan called out, dragging his own nails through the deep wound on his chest, his other hand reaching down to close around his own cock, tugging on it. As a hard, violent rhythm was put into place, the copy grabbed Hidan's jaw in one hand and forced his head to one side, nearly snapping his neck. A broken, bloodied hand found its way into the copy's hair, yanked hard. Every movement was agony for both of them – and as such, every movement was ecstasy. Broken bones ached and throbbed with increasing amounts of agonising pain. Cuts and slashes widened and bled furiously. Deeper wounds sent fire through their bodies.

The copy slammed harder into Hidan's broken body, moaning and gasping with every thrust. Hidan's hand was knocked aside and the copy took over the job, stroking him roughly and even painfully. The other hand reached down, tore at the stitching keeping one of Hidan's arms attached to his elbow, and ripped it out altogether, wrenching the arm free. Hidan screamed out in both pain and pleasure, using his remaining hand to tear at the copy's throat. Fresh, warm blood spilled down the copy's chest. A hand was thrust into Hidan's mouth, and with a sharp tug, his jaw was dislocated. His face was flushed, eyes completely glazed over, his breath coming in sharp, harsh pants. He turned his head – agony, since his neck had been on the verge of snapping – and violet eyes locked onto violet eyes. One leg slipped down from the copy's shoulders, wrapping around a torn, damaged waist, forcing the copy to thrust deeper into him. The hand that had been in his mouth now shifted, covering both his mouth and nose, rendering him unable to breathe.

Now he thrust back against the copy, needing more, unable to contain his desire any longer. His hand found the fist-sized hole in the copy's chest and forced its way inside, fingers closing around the beating pound of flesh just inside the hole. The hand moved from his mouth and nose just before he blacked out, and he was jerked back into consciousness when that same hand closed around his own heart, squeezing. Their eyes met again, and in silent understanding, both of them wrenched their hands free, ripping their hearts from their chests. With a united scream of pure ecstasy, they came together in a bloody, violent mess.

They ended up in a sticky, bloody heap on the ground, hearts still pulsating in hands, bodies still joined in an intimate embrace.

"Such a twisted little masochist, aren't we, Hida-chan?"

Hidan didn't hear the familiar silky purr. He was staring at the heart he gripped in his hand. Something about it was familiar. As if he'd been here before – lying in a bloody mess, holding a still-beating heart as if in offering to someone or something. To Jashin-sama, perhaps? No… that wasn't quite right.

He was distracted momentarily by cool lips against his, and the strong metallic taste of blood in his mouth. His tongue battled with his copy's, teeth tearing at lips, needing to taste more, fresh blood. The cool lips left his, trailed down his neck. Teeth sank into his throat, blood rising to the surface. Hidan's eyes fell upon the heart in his hand once more, and he frowned. So familiar. Not a ritual. Not a prayer. But an offering.

And now his eyes focused on the shadows beyond the pulsating heart. Formed a figure from them. A figure with tan skin, dark hair, and green irises set into red sclera. His breath caught in his throat as a tan hand reached out from the shadows and closed over the heart he was holding out. His heart.

And then he remembered.

"Kakuzu…" He whispered, and closed his eyes.

… And opened them again to see nothing but darkness. He could taste nothing but dirt, could feel nothing but the dull ache of familiar pain in his neck. He tried to move his fingers, tried to tighten a grip he didn't have around a heart that didn't exist. He searched for the beautiful, blood-soaked copy of himself that had never been there. Blinking several times to clear his head, he realised he was flushed, realised that despite having no attached lungs he was breathing heavily. And he felt satisfied. His lips tugged into a smile. Then a grin. And then he was laughing.

Laughing because he was buried alive. Laughing because he was in agony. But most of all, he was laughing because he remembered.

Remembered lying in a bloody heap, mutilated and a mess. Remembered holding out his own heart to a man with dark hair and unusual eyes. Remembered the look of triumph in that pineapple-haired brat's eyes when he'd thought he'd won.

Shikamaru had buried him alive, thinking it was a perfect punishment, little knowing just how twisted he really was, not knowing that he got off on it. He would happily remain buried alive for eternity.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen. Kakuzu would come for him, as he always did. As he always would. They wouldn't kill him. Couldn't kill him. It just wasn't possible.

Not since he'd given Kakuzu his _immortal_ heart.

Several feet beneath the surface of the earth, Hidan laughed. And his laughter was heard by the man waiting in the shadows in the Nara forest, unusual eyes focused on the pile of rubble that marked the entrance to Hidan's earthy tomb.

His stitched face twitched into a rare smile.

"That twisted, masochistic Taphephiliac."

* * *

**Author's Note: **So... that was Taphephilia. This is possibly the most twisted thing I've written, ever. But I stumbled across the definition of Taphephilia and couldn't NOT write this. Plus, it's always nice to have a bit of HidaHida now and then. Review on your way out - oh, and flames will be used to give Hidan some more time with himself. So don't bother. X3

- homesweethomicide13


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